


when stars slip into place

by flecksofpoppy



Series: Poppy's Adventures in Night Ficcing [11]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Lightly implied reincarnation, M/M, Non-explicit references to competitive eating (Sasha's happy hobby), Non-explicit references to vomit (Marco regrets takeout sushi), Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5737543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The price of following fate is having some misadventures along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when stars slip into place

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr ask box prompt: _jeanmarco for nightfic where one of them works at a skating rink and then other gets dragged there for whatever reason and they SUCK but "gee this ring referee sure is cute and doesn't laugh too hard when I bust ass constantly & need help getting up"_
> 
> Warnings: Non-explicit ref to vomit (Marco regrets takeout sushi), ref to competitive eating (Sasha’s happy hobby)

Marco is cranky. 

This is a rare occurrence, and at least a few of his friends are currently darting guilty glances at him as he falls on his ass for the third time in half an hour, barely able to advance a few feet on the ice without assistance or a tight grip on the rink’s low wall.

But how Marco got here is where the real pain begins.

It’d all started earlier in the week—New Year’s Day, to be precise—when everyone, in a blitz of glass clinking and rosy-cheeked good will, had made resolutions.

Upon remaining silent, Marco had been coerced into choosing a resolution, so he’d gone with the safe, “I resolve to... try something new.” That had earned him a few good-natured jeers and a disappointed cry of, “That’s a cop-out, Bodt!” This was followed by affectionate hair rustling, and then finally a reprieve after he promised he’d try something new with each of his friends. 

The first one to hold him to his promise was Mina. She’d resolved to go on more dates, since she felt like her love life was lacking. Unfortunately, a week later, she’d cornered Marco and somehow convinced him to go with her to a speed dating event.

There was something strange from the get-go when they arrived in the basement of the local community center, since the event was hosted by an organization called “Breaking Down Walls,” with the event tagline as, “Helping you find your inner love titan through community.” But Mina had such a determined expression—probably chalking any nerves up to pre-dating jitters—she had sojourned on. Marco figured it was only fair to keep going, too, so he’d sucked it up and stayed.

However, by the fourth conversation he’d had about the philosophy of “metaphorical walls” and how there were “worship services every Thursday, but only if you’re interested,” it became clear that this was not a place to find a future mate.

It was a cult. 

Regardless, somehow, Mina got a date, whereas Marco just got a lot of pamphlets. 

Not a great start to the new year.

Then, Armin—precious, safe, level-headed Armin Arlert—had resolved that he should go to more social literary events, and invited Marco along. After the speed dating fiasco, Marco figured the least he could do was accompany Armin since no one else was really interested. How could you go wrong with a little culture? 

Of course, he envisioned the supposed “literary event” as a polite gathering of bookish types, waiting to hear a highbrow poetry reading while drinking coffee. What he wasn’t expecting was performance art, and what he _really_ wasn’t expecting was to be doused in red paint as part of a “spirited” piece about how the artist-slash-poet was “going to eat you all up,” in some deranged homage to Hansel and Gretel.

To his credit, Marco had only really called it quits when the guy started to come too close after the paint had been tossed. Later in the bathroom, between a wad of wet paper towels and the assistance of the hand dryer on Marco’s shirt, Armin had apologized profusely. 

Marco had laughed it off, but by the time he’d gotten home to his empty apartment, chilled to the bone from the dampness of paint and the stares of other people riding public transportation, he was feeling less than amused.

Then there was Sasha and the hotdog eating contest. When she invited Marco to one of her matches, the offer seemed relatively safe, since Sasha had been on the local competitive eating circuit for a few years now, and this prospect wasn’t new or unexpected.

Marco had never really understood competitive eating, and although he appreciated Sasha’s strange talent for it and her excitement over the practice as a _sport_ , he privately had always found it somewhat offensive. Maybe it was growing up in a rural community where, although no one ever went hungry, food was prized and valued.

But whatever. Part of the reason Marco had moved to Trost was to meet different types of people, so his core philosophy from the beginning had been: to each their own.

However, none of that had anything to do with the fact that, upon smelling the overwhelming hotdog fragrance, he proceeded to spend the entire match wretching in the bathroom; it became quickly apparent that sketchy takeout sushi the night before had been a bad idea.

To add insult to injury, Sasha had sent her reserved girlfriend, Mikasa, to check on him. It must’ve looked really bad, too, because Mikasa went so far as to pat him on the back and murmur awkward albeit well-intended comforting words about how it’d all be over soon.

And now, with three “adventures” (disasters) under his belt, all within the first week of a new year, Marco’s fourth and final foray into “new things” is something he figured had quantifiable risks and an enclosed space.

Ice skating. 

Marco knows he’s terrible at ice skating, even though he actually has good balance, a good eye, and a steady hand. In fact, one of his favorite things to do is go with Sasha to the firing range and refine his marksmanship.

However, despite his adeptness with precision, ice skating is a different story. It’s slippery, nothing can you prepare you for it, and all it takes is a poor fit of rented skates to make your feet feel like they’re going to fall off.

Currently, Marco is lamenting all three, and he is cranky.

Not only that, but there also happens to be a _really_ cute guy who seems to be some kind of rink referee jockey for the Saturday free skate, and he’s staring at Marco.

And probably not because he thinks Marco is cute in return, but because he just fell on his ass for the fourth time, and may have cursed in front of a small child who looked rather scandalized.

And then there’s Mina who effortlessly glides to a stop and offers her hand, sweet face looking concerned, and Marco feels a little guilty for making a scene.

“Want help?” she says, putting on a nervous, placating smile.

Marco tries not to scowl and accepts her hand, righting himself with a heavy sigh and allowing her to _tow him_ across the ice to lean against the wall rink. 

This new year sucks already, and ironically, Marco was originally the only one in his group of friends who didn’t need a grandiose resolution to expect a good year. Seems that being rational and even-keeled doesn’t always work in his favor, though.

“So,” she says, pulling Marco’s green scarf over his shoulder where it’d fallen askew, “this isn’t very fun, huh?”

Ymir suddenly flies by, hitting him in the arm and telling him to man up, followed by Armin who murmurs an apology with a slight roll of his eyes. He’s not great at skating, but even he’s managing to hold his own by going slowly.

Marco sighs, collecting his composure, and tries for a smile. “It’s okay,” he says with a little shrug, “I agreed to come along. It’s not your fault if I’m not good at it.”

Mina’s eyes are wide and concerned, and she tugs absentmindedly at one of her braids. “Well, I don’t want to just leave you here.”

Marco laughs weakly, pulling off his ear warmers and shaking his head. “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll just... go and sit over there and watch you guys.” The hard chairs just outside the entrance to the rink where people take their skates on and off don’t look particularly appealing, but it’s certainly better than taking yet another fall.

Mina finally acquiesces and glides away gracefully to join her second date with Cult Guy who she’d brought along, and Marco gives a silent sigh, trying to decide what to do next.

And as if on cue to make this day suck as much as possible, he suddenly spots Hot Guy approaching the wall where he’s leaning with a stern expression.

Marco’s face starts to heat, embarrassed for his absolute lack of prowess on the ice, though he has no idea what this guy could possibly have to say to him.

“Hey, you,” he says, raising an eyebrow as he approaches and scans Marco’s body. “You all right?”

Oh.

“Uh, yeah,” Marco replies, biting his lip and trying to sound nonchalant. “I just fell, but I guess that’s the theme of the day.”

The guy just stands there, staring at him, and crosses his arms as if waiting for some additional response. He’s got kind of a haughty face from up close, a hand-knit hat pulled down over his head, and angular features. There’s something about the shape of his mouth that makes Marco think sneering probably comes easily to him, although of course, he could be sneering right now, and he’s not.

He’s also really cute.

“You’re not injured?” the guy asks after a moment, still looking borderline suspicious. “Because we have to avoid lawsuits.” _Now_ he sneers, rolling his eyes and smirking. “You’d be surprised how many special snowflakes take one little fall and then think they can sue for a million dollars for ‘emotional damages.’”

Marco just stares at him, eyebrows raised and head tilting to the side slightly, before he finds his voice again.

“Uh, well, sorry if I seem like a special snowflake...” he starts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “I fall a lot, but I’m not going to sue you.”

The guy blinks, as if the concept that his words might be offensive has just registered, and then he cringes a little.

“I didn’t mean you,” he explains after a moment, pulling the hat off his head to run a hand through his dirty blond hair self-consciously. “Anyway, the point is that if you’re okay, then you’re free to go.”

Marco snorts a little, sneaking a glance at the guy’s nametag, and raises an eyebrow. “Thanks, Officer Jean. I’m glad I’m not going to jail for falling on my butt.”

Marco suddenly notes the tone in his own voice, taking a moment to process his weird little comment, and then... _You’re flirting! Stop it! What are you doing?!_

Jean’s eyes are wide, as if he’s not expecting the sass, and Marco just stares back.

“You want help?” he suddenly blurts out, and much to Marco’s surprise, his cheeks are tinged pink ever so slightly. He immediately coughs, closing his expression and shrugging indifferently, looking down critically at Marco’s skates. “I mean, obviously those things are way too small for you.”

Of all the things Marco may have been expecting, an offer of help wasn’t one of them.

“I’m pretty bad...” he warns, unsure at this point whether this guy is trying to flirt back, if he’s really just that awkward, or can no longer stand the secondhand embarrassment.

Or _maybe_ , that smirk can sometimes turn into a really nice smile.

“What’s your name?” Jean asks, and somehow, Marco knows it’s probably not a question he bothers with a lot.

So he smiles, and replies, “Marco. And uh... that’d be great.”

“Okay, Marco,” Jean says, reaching out a hand to help Marco balance as he haphazardly fumbles to get from the ice onto the padded floor. Jean has a strong grip, and Marco suddenly feels warm, even though they’re outdoors and it’s actually very cold.

“I made this dumb resolution,” Jean remarks suddenly, not letting go of Marco’s forearm, “that if I talked to someone for more than a minute who wasn’t an asshole, I’d learn their name.”

“Good to know I’m not an asshole,” Marco deadpans, smiling with half his mouth, hoping desperately he doesn’t sound flirtatious. He’s not even sure at this point if he wants to go on a date with this guy, or just hang out; what he does know is that he feels suddenly and inexplicably drawn to this person.

He doesn’t even feel silly when, after collapsing with his sore knees and ass onto a chair, Jean has to bend down to help him get the painfully tight skates off. 

Marco also confirms something important about Jean the smarmy skate rink jockey: he was right about the really nice smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Been kinda blocked, so any feedback much appreciated! <3


End file.
